


Cartography

by KestrelShrike



Series: Anthesis-Side Stories [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Doing it on a table, F/M, Halamshiral, NSFW, Politics, Sex, Smut, They have sex on a table, War table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Lavellan do it on the War Table after discussing politics. I enjoyed this way too much. Cullen would not approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cartography

“And what of the slaughter at Hamalshiral? I am just supposed to go, make nice to the Empress, save her life, and pretend that she did not make the streets red with blood? Am I supposed to ignore the fact that half the alienage still smolders? They say you can see the smoke from the Winter Palace still. They say that the blood was ground into the dirt, so that the paths between houses will always be red. Am I supposed to ignore all that has happened for shem politics?” Externally, Maiwe attempted to maintain a cool temper at all times, but today was an exception. Her hand struck out suddenly, knocking off the markers that dotted the War Table. 

“All the politics they’ve instilled in me, the history of the recent Orlesian monarchy. Those dance steps, deciding what uniform we will wear. It’s all meaningless. We will sit inside and talk circles around each other, trying to obfuscate our meaning. On the streets, the Orlesians will continue to hunt the elves for sport. You think that just because I am Dalish, I do not care? Do you think that I find myself above them because our circumstances of birth are different? Some may be like that, but not I. I will not keep silent.” She detested it all- the Game, the tiny, polite steps she would have to take. Her vallaslin would not be covered, but everything else about her would be. They would try and make her as un-elven as possible. 

“I cannot let slaves serve me and smile, pretending that they are nothing. I will not take the whispers. I have listened to my advisors, and I have taken heed of everything they have said so far, but I will not sit quietly by and simply let this happen. Either they accommodate me, or I will not go. Let them murder their Empress. I will call it revenge for the dozens she has murdered, and the hundreds she has passively let die.” She stewed now, face red, out of breath. It took all her willpower not to gasp, to stand there and try and hide the rapid movements of her chest eagerly trying to take in oxygen. 

She saw how Solas looked at her now-stricken, though he tried to hide it behind his usual cool demeanor. None of them had seen the extent of Maiwe’s anger; she hid it too well. When she had been on the cusp of adulthood, her anger had been frequent, a sudden lashing at whoever was in her path. She had learned to contain it, to quash it so that she only simmered internally. Here lay the edge of her patience. Maiwe could no longer pretend to move along with these plans. 

“There is always Briala.” How could Solas stay so calm and measured while she stewed? It was almost enough to resent him, but he was right. He was very right. There were numerous problems with seating Briala directly on the throne, but Maiwe’s mind spun with possibilities. Giving Briala more power would give more to the elves in turn. They were not Dalish, but they were the same as her. They bled the same blood. Had circumstances been ever so slightly different, had her clan capitulating to the demands of human kind, she could have been a city elf herself. How would her life changed? Impossible to imagine. 

“Will she listen to us? I’ve heard she doesn’t care for the Dalish.” Which is fair enough, Maiwe thought. The Dalish had done nothing to help her people. They denied that the kinship even existed. 

“If anyone can persuade her it is you, vhenan. Word spreads already that the Inquisition welcomes all- not just those who bear the blood writing on their skin.” Maiwe could not conceptualize her own wisdom, but saw glimpses of it when Solas spoke. She had done her best to make Skyhold welcoming. She was even friends with Sera, despite the hostility that had greeted her at first. Briala would listen. 

Emotions heightened, first by anger and now by a giddy relief that she could still save the situation, Maiwe sprang forward, arms flung around Solas’ neck as her lips sought his. “What would I do without you?” He chuckled, the sound low and throaty in her ear. 

“You would come to the same conclusions, no doubt, but some other unfortunate soul would be your sounding board.” From anyone else, such teasing would earn some kind of sharp verbal retort. From Solas, Maiwe merely swatted at him playfully. He listened, and that was what mattered. When no one else would hear, they had each other, available to hear whatever banalities fell from each other’s lips. 

Solas surprised her then, turning her so that her back was to the war table. It hit just at her waist, this symbol of power that felt so weighty normally. Not it was just a table, freed of the little figures that represented thousands of troops, or dozens of diplomats and spies. It was simple a table, and they both had wicked minds. 

“Cullen would hate us.” She gasped a little as delicate hands sought to remove her clothing, but she did not object. Not one bit. 

“Were you planning on telling him?” Ramifications be damned. When Solas spoke like that, when his tone was so low, she could not keep a clear mind. What happened in the war room would stay in the war room, and her blood was still running far too warm. She would manipulate those Orlesians nobles so that they did not even notice; she would beat them at their own twisted Game. The looks on their faces when a Dalish elf outsmarted them all… It was nearly as satisfactory as warm hands on her breasts. Nearly, but not quite. 

How did they both end up naked? His arms scooped under her legs, hoisting her so that her back lay against the topography of Thedas, the ridges of mountains digging into her skin. Her own fingers delved into seas and forests indiscriminately, seeking purchase where there was none- just the raised areas of the map, the parts that had different textures. 

From atop her, Solas had one hand on the storm coast, the other near the Temple of Dirthamen. It felt wonderfully sacrilegious. Maiwe’s hair, freed from its pins, spread all the way to Val Royeux, Skyhold somewhere near the small of her back, or perhaps higher up, closer to her heart. One leg, bent at the knee, rested near the Emprise, but she was not cold. She was very warm, sweat mingling with Solas’ even as they moved together, up and then down, so that even the sturdy old table shook beneath them. Oh yes, Cullen would surely slaughter them if he knew, but that was the wonderful thing- he didn’t have to. Not unless Maiwe felt like telling. Her grin was still wicked even as her mind ceased to think of politics and cartography, turning to matters far more earthy and bound to the body.


End file.
